


Stilinski and Hooch

by bleep0bleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canonical Character Death, Dead Laura Hale, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Feral Behavior, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mystery, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5030290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek just moved back into town to look for his sister. He doesn't have time to deal with deputies-in-training who think he's an irresponsible pet owner. Better than thinking he's a werewolf, though.</p><p>Stiles just made friends with the most awesome dog while running in the Preserve. The owner? Not so much. He might be warming up to him, though...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raisesomehale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisesomehale/gifts), [theroguesgambit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroguesgambit/gifts).



> This is for [Madi's prompt,](http://raisesomehale.tumblr.com/post/131453627403) and I wrote it at [Rachel's](http://halekingsourwolf.tumblr.com) encouragement. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Thank you to [mad-madam-m,](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com) [ljummen](ljummen.tumblr.com), and [ infectiouspunk](http://infectiouspunk.tumblr.com) for the thoughts and quick reads! Title is courtesy of M.

Stiles huffs, bracing himself as he jogs up the hill. He’s been working on his endurance a lot, and running the seemingly endless trails in the Preserve is doing wonders for him. It’s just kind of ridiculous that his dad still insists on those physical fitness tests for new deputies when Stiles is pretty sure the old man wouldn’t pass either.

According to his phone he’s run a good three miles today; almost done. Stiles wipes his brow of sweat and follows the trail, down the hill. He’ll make a loop round the old Hale house ruins and then head home.

Sudden movement catches Stiles’ eye, and then he sees it; silhouetted in the early light of the morning at the crest of the hill is something massive, like a wolf.

The wolf— dog? — steps forward, regarding Stiles curiously. Stiles waves at it. “Hi, puppy.”

He gets an unimpressed stare back. What? All dogs are puppies to him.

Up close Stiles can see that the dog has a fluffy black coat, thick and shiny; so he’s definitely not a stray. Someone’s beloved pet, definitely. People bring their dogs to the Preserve, it’s not unusual, but Beacon Hills County has a very strict on-leash policy.

He’s really fluffy looking and awesome, though.

“Hey! Hello? Your dog is loose, you don’t wanna get a ticket!” Stiles calls out. Of course, if he’d passed his physical fitness requirements he’d be a deputy already and could give out tickets, but he likes giving people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they’re new to Beacon Hills and just don’t know.

Nobody answers, but Awesome Dog tilts his head at Stiles, regarding him curiously.

Stiles shakes his head and continues on his jog. On his loop around the Hale house ruins, there’s a shiny new black Camaro parked right outside. Weird. Must be some teenagers here to gawk at the house. Supposedly it’s haunted.

The next few days Stiles sees Awesome Dog again a few times, always around that area of the trail. He wonders if the owner knows how wolf-like his dog acts, or how much wolf is in him, really. The dog doesn’t act like any husky Stiles has ever known, really. Or wolf. Not that Stiles has met many wolves, but he’s seen documentaries.

The dog joins him for a run one morning, and Stiles actually pushes himself an extra mile; it’s great, running with the dog, and somehow the fuzzy dude seems to know when Stiles is flagging, and Stiles swear those are encouraging nods he gets.

He still hasn’t seen a glimpse of the owner yet.

One day curiosity gets the better of him and Stiles follows the dog after their run. “Where’s your person, buddy?” Stiles asks, reaching out.

Awesome Dog tentatively lets Stiles pet him, and even licks at his wrist a bit.

“Come on, seriously. It’s kind of dangerous, letting you run all around without them. What if you get hurt?”

The dog is definitely side-eyeing him now.

“Come on, you have to be from here. Do you live in town? You don’t even have a collar, like that’s a big fine right there.”

The dog snorts and turns away, running off.

“Hey, wait up!” Stiles chases him, running as fast as he can. Hopefully the dog is running home, and their owner is there, and then Stiles can properly lecture him on leashes and collars.

He loses track of the black blur around the Hale house ruins, and Stiles looks around, sighing with defeat.

“Come on, where are you?” he mutters.

“This is private property,” says a deep voice behind him.

Stiles whirls around and his jaw drops.

Stepping out of the dilapidated door is a naked— near naked— man, wearing only a pair of black boxer shorts which are hanging precariously low on his hips. He’s got an unruly looking dark beard and hair and dangerous looking eyes, and there’s a thick dusting of hair on his chest, running all the way down his navel and disappearing into his boxers.

“Wha— no, it belongs to Beacon County,” Stiles says, when he manages to catch up with what’s happening.

“Yeah, well, I bought it back. So. _Private_ property. What are you doing here?”

“Jogging,” Stiles says petulantly.

“The public lands are over there. You’re in my territory now.” The man’s rough voice breaks a little, like he’s unused to conversation much.

“Look, I was just following this awesome dog— oh hey, you wouldn’t happen to have seen the owner of this huge black dog? Looks like a wolf, kinda?”

The man’s eyes narrow. “Don’t come back here.” He turns around and — damn, that ass really fills out those boxers— slams the door shut.

Half the door falls to the porch, breaking neatly into pieces.

What in the world.

Stiles is about to leave when he sees it— the outline of his dog— no, not _his_ dog, someone’s dog— within the shadows of the house. “Hey!” Stiles dashes onto the porch and peers through the broken door.

The dog is there in the corner, curled up on the dusty floor, a pair of discarded boxer briefs next to him.

Oh shit. Awesome Dog belongs to Grumpy Hot Guy. (Who’s apparently wandering around his house naked?)

“Hey! Dude! I need to talk to you! If you bought this place, cool! But it’s not fit for a person to live in, let alone a dog! Dude? Hello?”

There’s no answer, but the dog lifts his head up and looks at Stiles. He almost looks a little sad, confused maybe.

“Don’t worry dude,” Stiles says. “I’m gonna help you. You deserve all the nice things, like a fluffy bed and cuddles and delicious foods and lots of toys to play with. Even if your owner doesn’t appreciate you, I will.”

The dog whimpers a little, then gets up and leaves the room.

“Bye, puppy!” Stiles says fervently. He wishes he knew the dog’s name.

He turns around, intending to leave, but sticks around for some reason. Maybe he’s hoping Awesome Dog will come back out and run with him some more, or maybe want to run away with him instead living in this dump with Grumpy Hot Guy.

“I told you this— this is private property. Why are you still here?”

Oh, he’s back.

And _naked._

Stiles steps back from the porch. There’s still enough of the lower half of the door to preserve the man’s modesty but Stiles gets an eyeful of tanned, muscular thigh and, well—

Okay, concentrate. Aside from the man’s obvious personal preference for a lack of clothing, Stiles is much more concerned about the way he’s living. Who buys the haunted Hale house and lives in it, really?

“Look, I’m just really concerned about your dog.” Stiles is honest, at least.

“My dog.”

It’s not a question.

“Yeah, I mean Beacon County is super strict on the leash laws and stuff, and I’m practically a deputy, so I know the laws. Your dog needs to be licensed and collared and leashed at all times in public areas. I’m also kinda worried about your home, too. To the point where I want to call Animal Control and have them check if you’re able to provide adequate care, I mean, it’s a serious thing, you know. Like, does Awesome Dog— your dog— have a name? I didn’t see a place for him to sleep, either, or dog bowls or toys or anything like that.”

Grumpy Hot Guy grits his teeth. “We just moved in.”

It’s a dismissal, if anything, and it just makes Stiles more determined. Besides, he’s been seeing Awesome Dog for about a week, and this makes Grumpy Hot Guy a very irresponsible pet owner if he still hasn’t gotten a bed or water or food or toys or _anything_ for his dog. Like, maybe if this was a normal house that stuff could be in the other room, but Stiles has run loops round this house and aside from the living room, the rest is a burnt out shell. There are no other rooms.

“I’m getting a warrant,” Stiles says fiercely. “From Animal Control. We can seize your dog, if we have to, I’m gonna—”

Stiles’ phone chirps with multiple texts.  It’s the special message tone from his dad. Stiles holds his hand up. “— check my phone real quick because it’s probably very important police business. Because I’m a deputy. Yep.”

Almost a deputy, but this guy doesn’t need to know that.

_Need you back at the station ASAP._

_Getting all the trainees to help since we’re understaffed, this is a high priority case._

_187\. Found half a woman’s body, mid thirties. Starting the search party for the rest as soon as you get here._

Stiles gulps. “Right, it is official police business, but you know, I’m not gonna forget you, Mister—” he gestures at the man, but he just gets a blank stare back. “This is the part where you introduce yourself.”

“Derek,” he says gruffly, folding his arms.

“Look, I know I come off a bit strong, on the dog thing, but like, I just really like animals, okay, and that dog was awesome, and he was running with me and we like, had a connection, and I just—”

“I’ll get a bed. And stuff for the dog. He’s um, part wolf,” Derek says. “He normally… hunts for himself.”

Stiles nods, not entirely convinced but thinks it’s a start. “Okay. I’ll check back to make sure. But you’re not off the hook! I’ll be watching you. And your dog too!”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s easier, much easier for Derek as a wolf. He didn’t want to return to Beacon Hills; there were too many memories here, too many of them painful. Laura always said he spent too much time in his wolf form that he forgets how to be human sometimes; but it’s always fond, teasing. She’d ruffle his ears when she got home from her bartending gig and say, “Guess you’re having a bad day again, Der?” and let him sprawl out on her lap while she watched TV.

It was easy, if Derek didn’t want to talk. And he very often doesn’t. It’s been quite a few years, well, since everything, but it’s easier when he’s a wolf, without the complications of human emotions weighing him down. Of course he still _feels_ — but it’s different, instinctual. Laura, _pack, alpha, sister._ Their small one bedroom apartment in Queens, _territory_. The expanse of woods up in the Catskills, _allied territory_ — the Tennyson pack graciously allowed the remaining Hales use of their land during full moons. And whenever else they might want to roam as wolves.

And Derek’s gotten better, but New York was too crowded, too many people and even after the years of therapy and finally finishing his bachelor’s degree, it was easier for him to retreat to the peace of the woods as a wolf. He’d disappear for days or a week at a time, and Laura would find him on full moons, shift and run with him.

It wasn’t like before. Nothing would ever be like before. But it was fine; they were alright, their little two-person pack.

And then Laura had said she was going back to Beacon Hills. Something about their uncle waking up, but when she called the nurse the next day he was comatose again. It was strange enough that she wanted to investigate in person, and there were some legal things long overdue for her to take care of.

Derek didn’t want to go. Derek didn’t want her to go. But she left anyway.

The full moon came and went, and Derek knew something was wrong when Laura didn’t meet him for their full moon run as usual. He went back to the apartment, but the scent was old; Laura hadn’t been there for at least a week.

Derek grudgingly shifted back into human form, put on clothes, threw a quick bag together and drove Laura’s car across the country.

Beacon Hills is very much the same, but also very different. Ten years can do that to a town. Their lawyer’s already transferred the deed of their house back into his name; apparently since neither Derek or Laura bothered to check in with the town in the years that followed, property had just been in the care of county.

The house is in disrepair; Derek’s surprised they didn’t tear it down.

The first thing he does is get rid of his clothing and shift; he runs around the Preserve, looking for a whiff of Laura’s scent. He comes up with nothing, not on any of the trails.

The house is muffled, filled with the scent of strangers, and even worse; the faint, lingering scent of his old pack.

Derek doesn’t shift back.

He covers a lot of ground, and even makes some progress when he catches her scent by a tree, but it disappears, like Laura was somehow magically teleported here and stood for a few seconds, and then teleported away.

It doesn’t make any sense.

Derek gets a sinking suspicion that magic is involved, and he doesn’t like it one bit. Laura’s in trouble. Or dead. But she can’t be dead, not from accident, because Derek is very much still a beta.

But _if_ Laura’s dead, that means there’s another werewolf in town. Another _Alpha,_ then. And that means trouble.

It’s too much to think about. Derek doesn’t like it at all. The wolf’s mind is simpler, easier; he searches for his sister, distracts himself by going on long runs through the Preserve, chasing down deer and squirrels and rabbits.

Derek sees the young man from a distance, at first. There aren’t too many people who hike through the Preserve, but this guy races through it like he knows every trail by heart. He’s not an exactly fast runner, and doesn’t look like he’s particularly enjoying the sport, but he tries hard.

It’s a bright point of Derek’s day, to say the least.

He’s a little annoyed when the man calls him ‘puppy,’ because Derek thought he was rather intimidating in his wolf form, but apparently the guy thinks he’s a dog. Which is much better than thinking he’s an actual wild wolf and calling out in alarm; there’s enough fearmongering for normal wolves near cities as is.

Derek learns the young man’s name is Stiles, and he’s training to pass some sort of test to become a deputy at the local sheriff’s department, and he talks to himself— and to Derek a lot.

Derek is no closer to figuring out where Laura is; but for now, it’s nice to just pretend to be a dog for a little bit. He spends a week or so running with Stiles, enjoying his company.

Stiles is a bit ridiculous, but he’s nice. As a wolf, Derek lets his guard down and even licks the man’s wrist once and lets him pet him. It’s nice, the contact. It’s easier this way.

Unfortunately the premise that Derek is a dog involves that somewhere there is a person who he belongs to; something Stiles is very concerned about. Derek tries to shake him off one afternoon, but he can hear Stiles coming up to the house, so he shifts quickly and grabs the first article of clothing he sees, yanking on the boxer shorts and speaking for the first time in a long while.

Stiles is much less pleasant to him as a human than a wolf. Derek understands that. He’s better at being a wolf. But still, it occurs to him that it might be a problem if Stiles brings local law enforcement attention to his situation— however fictional.

This is how Derek finds himself at All-Mart, in the pet section, staring at the colorful multitude of… everything. Leashes, collars, toys, bowls, food, everything you could think of.

He picks up a toy that’s shaped like a duck. It squeaks loudly, and startles Derek into dropping it back into its box, where it jostles the other ducks and they all start squeaking.

Derek steps back and runs right into the display case of leashes, and they fall to the floor, metal clunking noisily. He looks around and panic starts to set in, and is just about to leave the aisle when he recognizes a familiar scent— warm, with a touch of cinnamon, and a rabbit-quick beating heart.

“Oh! Hey, Gr— I mean Derek. I see you’re getting stuff for your dog, that’s awesome, dude.” Stiles is beaming, standing behind a grocery cart filled with vegetables and what looks like a loaf of whole wheat bread.

“Yeah, I just don’t know what he’d like,” Derek manages to say. Dogs need names, he should have thought of that.

“Dude, he’d rip that thing to shreds. I saw him tear apart this branch— log, really— with his bare teeth. Get something bigger, like this.” Stiles grabs a hefty rope toy and shakes it, grinning. “That dog is awesome. I passed my physical fitness exam and I wouldn't have done it without running with him. What’s his name, by the way?”

“Uh… I just moved here. And got him. He doesn’t have a name. Yet.” Good, good, stalling is good.

Stiles frowns immediately. “You are the worst pet owner in the world. Here, you should get this. And this. And this.”

Derek finds his arms laden with products— a giant fluffy dog bed, bowls for food and water, a bag of dog food, dry and wet kinds, and so many toys. Including a fluffy plush sheep that Derek actually finds kind of adorable.

Stiles talks to him the entire time, and Derek is kind of surprised; he’d figured the guy didn’t like him—the person— all that much, but maybe it’s Stiles’ personality, the continuous conversation. Or maybe he’s just really worried about Derek’s “dog.”

“Hooch!”

“What?”

“Come on, it’s a great name. Kinda like Pooch?”

Derek has to admit it is kind of a great name. If he had an actual dog, he’d want to name it Hooch.

“Okay.”

“Did you really just let me name your dog, dude?” Stiles’ face lights up. “Oh man, I take back everything I said about you, you’re trying so hard.”

They get in line, Stiles carefully placing all his groceries on the conveyer belt, pulling out a thick wad of coupons from his pocket and handing them over to the cashier to scan. He repackages everything into one single grocery bag, double bags it, and then seems to wait for Derek.

Derek buys everything and charges it all to his credit card.

“Dude, are you loaded or something? You didn’t even look at the price.” Stiles walks him to his car, holding the fluffy dog bed along with his own groceries.

“I guess.” Derek doesn’t like to think about the insurance money or where it came from. “Thanks.”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it. It’s kinda cute, actually. Derek hasn’t thought about finding anyone attractive for a long time, but here he is.

Shit.

“Look, I feel kinda bad, I just wanted to make sure you had all the necessities, and you just like… bought all the stuff I suggested,” Stiles says. “I mean, I wasn’t trying to be mean the other day, I just really like dogs, and I like your dog a lot, and he deserves nice things, okay?”

Derek nods. He feels something curious and warm bloom inside him— someone cares. It’s about a dog that technically doesn’t exist, but it’s a form of Derek that Stiles is genuinely worried about.

Derek doesn’t deserve nice things, but Hooch the dog does. It makes him feel strange, but nice.

He says goodbye and drives home to his empty, charred, burnt house, and sets down his new purchases, the only bright things in the building.

Derek shifts and sleeps in the dog bed.

It’s the best sleep he’s had in ages.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief non-explicit discussion of murder, also the Hale fire.

Stiles drains the last bit of coffee from his mug and groans, rubbing at his temples. They’ve gotten no closer to finding out the identity of the victim, let alone catching the killer. The whole Sheriff’s department has been abuzz ever since the woman— half of her— was found.

Beacon Hills has never been a nexus for crime, and although Stiles has always had big dreams about moving to the city or something to be a detective and work with crime and murder, his dad had given him a Talk when Stiles was still in the academy, about how Stiles was one of the best in the class, and Beacon Hills needed good deputies, and Stiles was the kind of man who could be Sheriff one day.

Stiles’ chest had filled up with pride, eager to continue the family tradition, and shelved his big dreams of solving mysteries for the excitement of small town life. Ever since he started as a deputy a few weeks ago, Stiles’ biggest responsibilities were enforcing parking and helping taking care of disturbances like noise control. He’d gone out on call before for a robbery, but really that was all Parrish and Haigh, who handled it merely by saying, “Sheriff’s Department!” and the attempted robber had just sighed and let himself be cuffed. Stiles’ own most exciting experience was rescuing little Maisie Williams’ cat.

So far, Beacon Hill’s very first mystery has been incredibly frustrating because they’re at a dead end. The body was found down in one of the ravines in the Preserve— Stiles shudders a little, because he’d been jogging there— and it’s the lower half, so they don’t have fingerprints or anything else to get a clue about who she was. The strangest thing was despite a recent rain and a lot of mud in the area, there wasn’t a single footprint left at the scene.

Stiles flips through the photos and frowns. There were a bunch of animal tracks that he found strange. Deputy Haigh had dismissed it as unimportant to the case, but Stiles is glad he took all these pictures. He’s no expert, but it looks like there are two sets of prints here, no, three. No, way, that’s weird.

Huh.

Looks like there were two animals— dogs? But Beacon Hills has a very strict no off-leash policy for the entire Preserve. Maybe it was Hooch, before Stiles had impressed upon Derek the importance of that rule.

There are two sets of paw prints, one slightly larger than the other, and they approach the area and then it turns into chaos, like the dogs had a fight.

Stiles grabs his magnifying glass and looks closer. That can’t be right, because there aren’t any of these prints leaving the scene. In fact, there’s only one clear set of prints leaving, and those are _much_ larger than any of the previous two.

“Dad!” Stiles yells, twirling around in his chair and brandishing the photos. He scoots backwards, intending to scoot all the way to his dad’s office except Parrish raises his eyebrow at him in judgement, so Stiles gets out of the chair.

“We have to go back to the site, look at these prints, I think we have something here!” Stiles thrusts the photos into his dad’s face.

“What am I looking at, Stiles? I thought you were trying to see if there was anything we missed. Clues to find what direction we should start looking for the victim’s possible belongings.” John pushes his glasses up on his nose and glances down at the photos.

“Clothes, purse, ID, right,” Stiles says, nodding. “But look at these prints. Aren’t they weird?”

“Animals do strange things sometimes, Stiles. It’s a nature preserve, that’s what it’s there for.” John sighs.

“I think we need to go back and investigate this further. It doesn’t add up. Look at these tracks— two sets but they don’t leave the area, just this one bigger animal. Someone— the killer, or the victim— must have arrived with them.” Stiles nods with determination.

John signs. “We didn’t get any tracks in the fresh mud, okay.”

“Maybe the people were standing on this compacted earth over here,” Stiles muses. “Look, we should check it out. What if it was part of like, an illegal dog fighting ring?”

John eyes the photos one more time. “I guess the idea that either the victim, the killer or both had dogs with them has some merit. Take Parrish and canvas the neighborhood, interview everyone registered with a dog that could have made those prints.”

Parrish is efficient, to say the least. Within a few minutes they have a list of everyone in Beacon County and Clarke is splitting up the roster. Parrish is still on the phone with Jenny, who works at both the Department of Animal Regulation and the pet section of All-Mart. “As far as any new licenses issued, there’s only been one in the last month, a ‘Hooch’ for a—”

“Derek!” Stiles says enthusiastically. “Yeah, he just moved into the old Hale house. And he has this huge black dog that looks like a wolf, he’s awesome. The dog, that is. He used to run with me when I was training.”

“Derek?”

“Yeah, you know him?” Stiles thought the guy just moved here.

“Hale,” Parrish says thoughtfully.

“He did say he bought that place, maybe he’s into fixer-uppers,” Stiles says.

“No, as in Derek Hale,” Clarke corrects gently, and she’s exchanging a look with Parrish. “We both went to high school with him.”

Oh, shit.

Derek _Hale_ , as in the Hales who used to live in that house before it burnt down. Stiles suddenly feels awful. He’d been a kid when it happened, and he didn’t know any of the Hales but it had been the talk of the town for a long while.

Stiles gulps, and a memory comes into focus suddenly. It’s the same room, the same place, almost like nothing has changed at all.

_The station is quiet except for the sound of a girl sobbing desperately his dad’s office. Stiles is nine years old, coloring quietly while he waited for his dad so they could go home._

_There’s a teenage boy sitting on the cold plastic seats outside his dad’s office, waiting while his dad talked softly to the girl inside. The boy is staring blankly ahead at nothing at all._

_Stiles stops coloring and walks up to him. “Do you want some gum?” he asks, holding out his packet._

_The boy shakes his head._

_“Are you okay?”_

_The boy shakes his head again._

_Stiles bites his lip; he doesn’t understand all of what was going on, only that his dad had just picked him up from school and they had to come to the station immediately because something terrible had happened._

_Stiles clambers into the seat next to him, pocketing his gum. “Do you want me to hold your hand? My mom used to do that if I was sad and I’d feel better.” Stiles offers his hand and waits._

_Some sort of resolve breaks and tears start to leak from the teenager’s eyes, but he takes Stiles’ hand gratefully and squeezes, holding on for dear life._

“Stiles! Deputy Stilinski!” Clarke says, snapping him back to the present.

“Huh? Yeah,” Stiles says.

“Ready to head out?”

Stiles glances at everyone’s assignments, and switches his sheet with Haigh. “Here, you do these.” He takes a deep breath and puts on his jacket. “I’ll talk to Derek.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments and messages, it's really appreciated and helps keep the story going <3

The house isn’t livable.

Derek didn’t care, when he was a wolf. It was only ever going to be temporary, he was going to come back and find Laura and they’d go back to New York, away from this place and all its memories.

But Laura wasn’t here, and Derek might have stayed as a wolf forever, because it was easier to process the emotions that way, and he didn’t have to _feel_ as much, didn’t have the capability to process what that aching emptiness in his chest meant.

He’d felt it before, a searing pain that left no mark, just the invisible bonds of pack and family and love breaking forever when they died. It was like all his limbs were being torn apart, except the worst part was that Derek was still whole, that he was still here and they weren’t.

So he knows that pain, remembers it, but doesn’t want to believe that it’s true, because it would mean that Laura is gone.

Derek kicks the squeaky toy aside and glares at the charred remains of the living room.

He was hungry earlier, and there was a can of dog food that he’d nosed at uselessly, his wolf claws scraping at the curves of the metal to no avail. Finally he gave up and shifted back to human so he could open the can, but the benefit of opposable thumbs also meant he had to face his unsettling thoughts.

Laura. The pack bond that he couldn’t feel. How much time did he lose as the wolf? He wasn’t— he wasn’t doing anything useful, just running around with Stiles—

Stiles.

Well, if it hadn’t been for him Derek might not have had a reason to shift back.

Derek sighs, his stomach growling once again. The can had an easy tab to open, but now that he’s got it open it doesn’t look appetizing at all. _Bosco Dog Food,_ Derek reads on the label. _Beef flavor. Not suitable for human consumption._ The can smells only vaguely of meat. Fat and gristle and salt is the most of it.

He looks around the living room— one of the few places left intact, though burn marks and soot still streak the walls. The entire back of the house is open to the elements. There’s no electricity, no gas, no running water. There’s a folder Derek has from his lawyer when he first got back to town; information on how to get all that started again (and a letter that highly recommends he just tear down the place and start anew). It’s all still in the duffle bag haphazardly stuffed full of clothes that Derek dropped in the corner.

The scent from the can is getting stronger. Derek folds the lid back down.

A vehicle approaches, tires crunching down the path, and it stops. A familiar scent wafts forward, and a rabbit-quick heartbeat. It’s Stiles’ scent, warm and comforting, and brings with it the memory of long runs and laughter in the Preserve.

Something else delicious follows his scent, like beef and hot oil and potatoes.

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice wavers, hesitant, a sharp contrast to the confident tone Derek’s used to from him.

Fuck. Clothes.

Derek drops the can, looking around quickly. “Be there in a second,” he calls out. He bends down to grab a pair of boxer briefs off the floor and pulls them on and— oh, his door is broken, the top half missing. Stiles is standing behind it, flushed a bright pink, clearly having witnessed the whole bending-over moment.

“Sorry, I, ah, I’m still unpacking. Hi.”

“Hey,” Stiles says. “Uh, I brought some food. I thought we could talk?”

Derek’s stomach growls.

“Come on in,” Derek finds himself saying, and he opens what’s left of the door.

Stiles steps inside, looking around curiously. “Where’s Hooch? I got some extra hamburger patties, I thought he would like it.”

“He’s… out. Running around in the woods, probably. He’ll come back if I call for him.”

“Okay, great,” Stiles says. “Um. Where do you want to eat?”

Derek realizes abruptly his lack of furniture and how awkward this is. “I haven’t… uh. All my stuff is in storage. I haven’t gotten it out yet.”

Stiles holds up a grease stained paper bag. “Cool cool. Nothing fancy, just burgers and fries from Rita’s.”

The combination of the logo on the bag and the scent of the food brings Derek back; the old diner on Main, his mother chatting with Rita as he stole fries from Laura’s plate.

“Thanks,” Derek says, taking the bag carefully. “We can eat out on the back porch if you like.”

Stiles nods and follows Derek through the shell of the house. The back porch survives; a steady thing, a deck that Derek’s grandfather had built.

Derek notices the way Stiles’ scent gets sharp with arousal, his footsteps faltering as Derek sits down. When Derek turns around, Stiles sheepishly steps forward, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I uh, I came by because I thought we got off to the wrong foot. You know, me yelling at you because of Hooch and stuff. I mean, I’m still more than a bit bothered that you and your dog are living here but like— um— extenuating circumstances, I get it.”

Stiles continues to ramble, about how big Hooch’s paws are and then some nonsense about a movie that just came out. Derek unwraps a burger and bites into it, Stiles’ story falling into a comforting cadence in the background. It’s been hard for Derek, to adjust to the hustle and bustle of the town, especially after so long as a wolf, but this— this is good. Safe.

The meat is juicy, every bite delicious, and Derek finds himself after one bite that he can’t stop. It tastes _so_ good; savory beef and crisp lettuce and ripe tomato and toasted bun. It’s the best thing he’s eaten in weeks, and that includes the deer he took down last week.

“Wow, hungry much?” Stiles asks, impressed. “You can have mine.”

He nudges another burger toward Derek, and Derek doesn’t need to think twice before he’s devouring that one too.

Something warm blossoms inside Derek, a pleased sort of feeling, and his instincts start clamoring for him to pay attention. Derek looks up, swallowing the last bite and wipes his chin haphazardly, trying to tamp down the immediate thought of _mate, yes, this one, he provided for us—_

It’s just a story, after all. Something his mother used to tell him, about how to find someone you’re suited for. And there’s no way Stiles could know about any old werewolf traditions of courting, so the whole point is moot.

“Fries? Oh, and these extra patties are for Hooch.” Stiles grins expectantly, and Derek just knows he won’t leave until he sees what he thinks is a dog.

Derek takes a fry and bites it, standing up. “I’ll go get him. Wait here.”

He shuffles off into the house, peeking back to make sure Stiles is staying put. Sure enough, he’s sitting on the porch, tapping his leg impatiently, munching noisily on fries.

Derek sighs, slipping out of the boxers and shifting. It comes easily, and he bounds out a broken window and races around the house, chasing the scent of _StilesfoodhappyStilesfoodhappy_ until he’s got the scent right under him.

Derek licks and licks, he doesn’t need to think, all he knows is that Stiles is here and Stiles brought him food and he’s _happy_ in this moment.

“Hey, hey, dude, aw, I love you too,” Stiles says, laughing as he scratches Derek’s ear.

It’s then that Derek realizes what’s happening— Stiles loves Hooch the dog, not Derek, and the lonely part of his heart makes him shuffle back, the wolfish instincts receding for more logical thought.

He’s keeping up appearances, that’s all.

“Aw, dude, I got you these hamburgers, here you go.” Stiles tosses the patties at Derek with a broad smile. “Can’t go wrong with food, I mean, everyone back at the station was like, no, no way Hale is gonna say anything to you, but I mean, we’re kind of buddies? I mean, you and I are, at least. I have no idea about Derek, but he seemed to like that burger.” Stiles glances backwards at the house. “Where is he, anyways?”  

Derek whines; he doesn’t want to shift again, doesn’t want to leave the comfort of this form, a form that’s loved. He nudges forward until Stiles pets his head, carding his fingers through his fur.

“Aw, there you go, bet your old man isn’t giving you all the cuddles you deserve. You should have all the cuddles.” Stiles wraps his arms around him, pressing a sloppy kiss to his side, and then sighs, nuzzling in close. His happy excited scent changes; and there’s that nervousness, that hesitation from the beginning. “This is gonna suck. I know I wanted to be a great detective and everything, but I always hate this part. You never know how people are gonna react to murder and stuff— and the details are grisly too, that poor woman.  I mean, I don’t know if Derek saw anything but it for sure happened real close to his property. Imagine like knowing someone just cut someone else in half right where you live? It’s the worst, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. And then coupled with the whole fire thing, which I didn’t put together until—”

Derek feels his insides run cold, and he wriggles out of Stiles’ arms. Horror and realization rush through him— or maybe confirmation, or maybe it’s just knowing because the details and the timing it can’t possibly be anyone else, and the words _cut in half_ chime through his mind, an awful echo, and he knows only sorrow and anger and grief.

He’s been hiding all this time, ignoring the signs of what he must have knew, that Laura had been murdered by _Argents_ , because it was that despicable calling card again. Or _not_ Argents, because of… ? A werewolf is involved somehow, a werewolf that is now an Alpha running loose with the legacy of Hale power they have no right to.

Derek sets aside the confusing thoughts; he’ll figure it out later.

He rushes off towards the forest, and _howls._

It’s time to set things right.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles freezes. That was a _wolf_ howl. And there’s no mistaking it either, Stiles recently just passed a physical exam to become a sheriff’s deputy and that included hearing. There’s no way that could have been a dog… could it?

Well, didn’t Derek say at one point that Hooch was like, part wolf?

“Derek?” Stiles stands up nervously, going back inside the house. “Hey, dude, Hooch just ran off, I know you said you’re cool with him just running around the woods and all but…”

What passes for a living room is empty. And so is the other room. There aren’t any more rooms in the house; everything else is open to the elements. Stiles’ footsteps echo on the still charred wood floor, and he swallows. “Derek?”

Maybe Derek went after Hooch.

Yeah, that makes sense.

A door slams shut; a rippling gust of wind creaks through the house, and Stiles shudders.

He pulls a pen out of his pocket and scribbles a quick note on the food bag and heads out.

 

* * *

 

The canvassing is a bust. None of the other interviews yielded any information; and Stiles had been counting on Derek having seen something, at least.

Stiles’ day has just been overall— unproductive.

There was a call that came in around noon— Melinda Barnes, who beat Stiles in the Beacon Hills charity marathon last year, and still regularly jogs around the Preserve, called in to say she saw what could have been another body. The other half that they’d been looking for.

But when Stiles and the team went to check it out, they’d found nothing at all in the spot, not even tracks. Melinda upon further questioning did admit she’d been running for awhile and could have imagined seeing what she thought was a hand. A branch, maybe.

The day’s been filled with nothing but wild goose chases, but something still feels off to Stiles. Parrish is convinced that it was nothing, but Stiles knows Melinda— she’d only have called them if she had actually seen something.

No, what Stiles thinks happened is that the killer was doing something with the other half of the body— dumping it somewhere else, maybe. But if they had taken the trouble to transport half the body away in the first place, why come back to the scene of the crime?

Nothing is making any sense.

Maybe they moved it again.

Maybe they’re setting a trap?

Stiles’ head is filled with theories, each one more plausible than the next.

He gets home and Scott’s already on the couch, eating spaghetti out of a mug. “Made dinner,” Scott says brightly. “We’re out of clean dishes again.”

“Bro,” Stiles says appreciatively, finding his own spaghetti-filled mug on the counter, still warm. He doesn’t even bother changing out of his uniform or even taking off his gun belt, he just picks up his food and joins Scott in front of the TV; there’s a fancy looking cooking show that’s mindlessly playing.

“Dude isn’t zesting his lemon right,” Scott says, shaking his head.

“He’s gonna lose,” Stiles says, agreeing.

Adulting, they’re doing it well.

Theoretically Stiles could have moved back in with his dad after college, but he and Scott were determined to make it on their own; their place is small and cramped and gets way too noisy at night because they’re downtown, but they get to have their own place and Stiles gets to live with his best friend and everything, so it all works out in the end.

They specifically wanted to get an apartment because Scott and Stiles both decided it would help a lot with trying to date people; unfortunately, they’re both still single.

Stiles sighs, slumping against Scott’s shoulder. “Please tell me about your day because mine went nowhere.”

“No leads on the case?” Scott asks. “That sucks. Mine was the usual. Mrs. Tilley’s chihuahua still thinks he’s a bear.”

Stiles snorts. “Princess still giving you trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Scott says good naturedly. “Something weird, though. Some of my afternoon clients said the Sheriff’s department was asking questions? Are their dogs suspects in the murder?”

Stiles groans. “Yeah, sorry about that. We’re just trying to track down any lead— there was a big animal— a dog, most likely, leaving tracks at the murder scene.”

“Hmm,” Scott says. “Pictures?”

It’s technically against the rules to share information about an ongoing case, but it’s _Scott._ Besides, Stiles could always use his expert testimony too.

Stiles uses his foot to draw his briefcase in closer so he doesn’t have to leave his comfortable spot, and then flips it open, handing the photos to Scott.

“Stiles.”

“Mm?”

“These aren’t dog prints.” Scott hands the photo back to Stiles. “This is definitely a wolf.”

“But—but—”

Scott grabs his napkin and sketches an outline of a paw print on it, and then another one, larger. “See where the toes are? A domesticated dog’s would be closer together.  This here in your photo— that’s a wolf.”

Stiles stares at the photo again. “That doesn’t even make sense. There aren’t any wild wolves in California, let alone Beacon Hills.” He staggers to his feet, thinking of all the possibilities. No… it has to make sense, somehow. The wolf thing. And maybe the other things, too.

The killer cut the body in half— why? To send a message to someone? Oh God, what if it’s part of some organized crime ring?

So half the body was found, but what if the message wasn’t found by its intended recipient? And the police got there first? That would explain why the killer would risk capture to bring the other body half back to the woods, except that they were thwarted again, spotted by Melinda, and had to recalculate.

“I have to go into the woods,” Stiles announces.

“What? Now? But you just got back from work. Do you guys have to go on another search? I thought you already looked for the other half of the body.”

“No, we did, but I think the killer has been waiting— they’re going to do it tonight, I have to go!”

Stiles grabs his keys and Scott stands up. “Aren’t you calling backup?”

“No, I had a hard enough time convincing my dad there was a reason to look at the prints, and then after that supposed false call today I don’t think anyone would go.” Stiles sighs. He just wants to figure this out.

“I’ll go with you,” Scott offers. “You shouldn’t wander around the woods at night by yourself, Stiles.”

“Awesome! You can get a better look at the actual prints and tell me your _expert_ expert opinion on them. Plus this will be great. Remember when we used to do this shit all the time in high school?”

Scott laughs, grabbing a heavy duty flashlight from the closet. “I think this is the same flashlight we took when we figured out that tequila is not your friend.”

Stiles punches Scott’s shoulder playfully. “That’s the spirit! Let’s go find us a dead body!”

 

* * *

 

It’s fun and exciting for all of ten minutes. The whole ride in the Jeep, Stiles bantering with Scott, reminiscing about high school shenanigans and drinking in the woods, making fun of Harris— it kind of falls away with the ominous shadows of the forest as they get deeper and deeper into the wood.

Stiles parks the car, and they walk the trail together, Scott shining the flashlight and Stiles trying to make sense of where they are. He knows they’re on the main trail, he jogged this every day when he was training. But somehow it looks different at night; the full moon casts long, twisted shadows, and every rustle of the leaves makes him jump to attention.

They climb a steep hill, pausing at the top. Scott’s catching his breath, winded from the climb. He takes a long drag from his inhaler, and Stiles waits patiently, holding the flashlight. He thinks if they go west that’ll get them closer to—

“What was that?” Scott jolts up in alarm.

Stiles takes a deep breath, listening.

There’s something moving just ahead of them; something rustling in the bushes, something _big._

Stiles’ hand immediately goes to his gun. “Who’s there? This is Deputy Stiles Stilinski of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department and I—”

A herd of deer bursts out of the bushes, running directly at them. Stiles’ initial relief gives way to panic when the deer don’t seem to change course, just seem determined to _flee_ , charging right for him and Scott.

Stiles falls backwards and Scott in the other direction, and both of them lose their balance and end up tumbling down opposite sides of the hill. It’s all confusion and movement as the deer stampede away, and Stiles can hear Scott shouting for him, and Stiles shouts back, but he can’t see anything and everything is dark and blurry and—

Red.

Something red and glowing in a monstrously large shape— too big for a human— prowls forward, moving lightning quick from the shadows and then Stiles hears Scott’s scream.

His blood runs cold. Not Scott, not his _brother,_ oh fuck, oh fuck, no, this is Stiles’ fault, he wanted to come out here, what even is that thing—

Fuck, fuck it’s coming this way—

Stiles is on his back, at a disadvantage already; he dropped his gun in the tumble and he desperately tries to scoot back, but the thing is rushing towards him and Stiles can see _fangs_ —

A howl echoes from behind him, and another shape leaps into the air— a wolf, the strong sinuous shape of it beautiful in the moonlight, standing between Stiles and the monster.

Stiles can see the other one more clearly now, and he wishes he hasn’t. It’s grotesque, like right out of a horror movie but worse. Covered in black and gray fur, some horrifying wrong-looking amalgam of a man and beast.

It snarls, and Stiles’ protector takes a definite stance, growling in return. Stiles can see him more clearly now, recognizes him immediately.

“Hooch?” Stiles asks tentatively.

There’s no denying it now; Hooch is definitely a wolf. Every inch of him radiates power, and when the red-eyed beast attacks, Hooch gives back for all he’s worth, all teeth and claws.

The beast is at least three times Hooch’s size, and bipedal, like a man, and stronger too— it swipes angrily at Hooch, claws lashing out, and Stiles can smell the hot blood in the air.

Hooch hits the ground, whimpering in pain.

“No,” Stiles says, and he finds his courage. He stands up and dashes for his gun, disengages the safety, and aims it at the creature. “If you— I don’t know what you are, but you just laid a hand on my buddy Hooch here and that’s not cool, and I swear, if you fucking hurt Scott I’m gonna—” Stiles doesn’t even want to think about the possibility, what that scream meant.

The creature cocks his head and eyes Stiles like he’s an insignificant ant, and snorts. It turns around and runs off into the shadows, like it does not care at all.

Stiles is shaking; he reengages the safety and holsters his gun, catching his breath, willing his heart to stop racing. “Scott!” he yells. _Please answer, please answer…_

A long moment before—

“Stiles!”

Stiles exhales in relief. “Are you okay? Did that thing— ?”

“It got me, yeah. I can move, though, and I’m not bleeding much, which is weird, but it hurts like hell. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Stiles says. “Remember that dog I told you I was friends with? He’s here, he just straight up rescued me. He’s hurt real bad, though.”

Stiles inches forward, and now that it’s not in the thick of the moment he can see Hooch laying on his back, breathing laboriously. “Thanks, buddy,” Stiles says, patting his head gratefully. “You’re the best. I’m gonna get you taken care of, just stay tight.”

Stiles tries not to look at the gaping wound; the claw marks scored deep into the fur, exposing the flesh, and it’s bleeding heavily. Hooch whimpers and licks Stiles face weakly.

“I’m gonna check on my friend and be right back,” Stiles says, pressing a soft kiss to the wolf’s forehead.

He climbs back up the hill and carefully makes his way down the other side; Scott is at the bottom, holding his side and wincing. He takes the hug Stiles offers, and the two of them hold on to each other desperately for a few minutes, basking in the relief.

“I was really worried,” Scott says.

“You? I heard you scream,” Stiles says. “Let me see it.”

The wound is deep, and looks like it was a bite, rather than claws. Like Scott said, it’s not bleeding much, but Stiles’ shirt becomes a makeshift bandage anyways, and then he helps Scott get up, and the two of them head back down the trail.

“Hooch, he’s just right here,” Stiles says. “He was hurt pretty bad—”

Stiles blinks.

The wolf is gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek is exhausted. Every muscle in his body aches; especially his back and his shoulders. His chest— that’s another matter. It’s healing, albeit however slowly. Alpha’s claws. Ugh.

He slumps back in the ample shade of the porch, covered in dirt and the dried blood from last night. He stares out at the tangle of bare dirt and weeds that once was his mother’s garden, her pride and joy. Roses bloomed there, and a well-tended box of herbs over there. Tulips. Peonies.

There’s not a bit of living green there now, nothing except the one stalk of aconite blooming in the center of a large swath of freshly turned dirt.

Derek inhales and exhales, staring at the grave, tears welling up in his eyes.

He flops onto his back so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore, and mindlessly looks up at the sky instead.

Yesterday… last night. It all runs into a blur right now, and Derek is too tired to think.

He remembers running off into the woods, determined to find Laura this time, find out what happened to her. He chased several false leads over the expanse of the Preserve, and it wasn’t until nightfall when he found her.

It had been a trap.

The Alpha had been waiting, using Derek’s moment of grief as a distraction, leaping out of the shadows and attacking Derek. It was monstrous, like the werewolf’s heart had been twisted to begin with and given new power it had become something horrendous.

Derek had fought back with all he had, anger fueling his every move, but he was no match for the Alpha, and only narrowly escaped death when the Alpha was distracted by a new scent in the air.

Derek raced forward but he didn’t make it in time; the Alpha was already there, attacking the hikers—

He did what he could. He doesn’t remember much; he remembers screams and _Stiles,_ Stiles had been there.

Derek had felt the shift leaving him, the injury taking all of his energy and his control waning, and he’d slumped off into the bushes, aching in pain, not willing to involve Stiles in his mess any more than he already has.

Derek laid there in the bushes, chest heaving and drenched in his own blood, thinking about that new scent in the wind, about whether the bite will take, if it hasn’t already. Stiles’ friend was already walking with Stiles, the two of them heading down the trail together, and Derek wondered if it was already too late.

He’d gone back to where he found Laura, and carried her back to the house. He can’t go claim the rest of her without arousing suspicion and creating even more drama, but he can do this one thing for her. He’d dug the grave by hand, and then by claw, and then scoured the woods for the aconite, the one part of the ritual he does remember.

He doesn’t remember all the things they used to say when they bury the dead. Aunt Clementine was the one who kept track of all that, who read the rites when Uncle Joey passed away of old age. They’d buried him under the old oak tree with a sprig of aconite. They’d traced the symbols for joy and love and family all around the grave, and in the springtime flowers would grow along the pattern.

Derek’s forgotten all of those symbols now; all but one.

He buries Laura with a spiral.

Revenge.

The sky is hot and heavy. Derek flops over, too dizzy to think. His chest isn’t healing. Everything is terrible. He should just close his eyes… and…

“Derek!”

Fuck.

Derek opens one eye, barely has time to think _Stiles_ and to feel a fleeting sense of fondness and relief before he passes out again.

 

* * *

 

 

Well, this has been an _exhilarating_ twenty four hours. “C’mon, c’mon,” Stiles says desperately, checking Derek for a pulse and definitely not looking at his bare ass. Seriously, why is this man always naked? He takes a deep breath and concentrates. Okay, steady pulse. Seems kind of weak, though.

There’s blood all over the deck, like Derek had dragged himself here and just passed out. He groans when Stiles’ hand moves off his neck, and he opens his eyes, blinking wearily at Stiles.

“Hey,” Stiles says. “I’m gonna call 911, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

He reaches for his phone but Derek grabs his wrist. “No… hospital,” he says gruffly, and lays back down, this time on his back.

Stiles stares at the claw marks gouged down Derek’s chest.

Well.

He takes a deep breath. “Okay, no hospital. But you’re in bad shape, dude. Just let me know how I can help you. It’s the least I can do, you know. Since you pretty much saved my life last night.”

Derek’s eyes flutter a bit, like he’s processing it, and then he just breathes for awhile. “Just need rest. Help me inside?”

Stiles nods, and somehow he pulls Derek to his feet, and gets under his shoulder and helps him walk through the broken down house to the useable two rooms in the front. It’s much cooler in here, and while there’s no furniture, there _is_ a very fluffy large dog bed sitting in the corner.  

He snorts, and then very gently eases Derek down on the floor, with the dog bed as a pillow.

Stiles spots a discarded torn t-shirt on the floor and picks that up and also lays it over Derek’s junk. For his own peace of mind.

“Thanks,” Derek says, closing his eyes.

“Anything else? I kind of want to bandage your chest up, but I’m not an expert, you know. On werewolves. I mean, I know an awful lot but I’m pretty sure books and movies and videogames didn’t get it all right, so.” Stiles waits for the reaction— any reaction. He expects denial or some huge, long-winded explanation about how last night was just a dream, and Derek’s injuries are just a coincidence, but none of that happens.

“Physical contact can help with healing,” Derek says, after a moment. “It’s supposed to be pack, but I… I don’t have one anymore. You’re probably the only person I trust right now. Can I…?”

Stiles blinks and kind of laughs to himself. “Sure, you can hold my hand, speed up your werewolf healing. Of course. Makes perfect sense, then again, so does the fact that you can turn into a huge fucking wolf. Why not.” He reaches out and takes Derek’s hand, squeezes it.

“More contact is good. Would you…” Derek seems nervous. “Lie down next to me?”

“Sure, let’s spoon, big guy.” Strangely enough, this is not the weirdest thing to happen to Stiles today.

He lays down on the dusty floor, puts his head on the dog-bed-pillow and Derek pulls him close, laying his head on Stiles’ chest, curling up around him. Their hands are still interlaced.

In a few moments Derek is sound asleep, face relaxed, at peace.

It’s been a very strange day. Stiles has had to reevaluate his entire worldview at least three times in the last twenty four hours. He’d gotten Scott home late last night and helped bandage him up; Scott had refused to go to the hospital and worry his mom, apparently the wound wasn’t that bad, despite the bleeding.

And then in the morning, apparently Scott was feeling well enough for work, and when he asked Stiles to help him change the bandage— the skin was smooth, like there had never been an injury at all.

It had been strange, and Scott had been inclined to believe that they somehow imagined the whole wolf attack, or that it wasn’t as monstrous as they thought, just their imaginations and the dark night and the whole situation getting exaggerated in their memory.

Scott had felt fine, in fact, more than fine, and he’d just gotten dressed and went to work, rolling his eyes at Stiles’ theories about werewolves and super healing.  

Stiles put on his uniform and went to work, but stared down the mound of paperwork and the unsolved case ahead of him and he just— he wanted answers. He needed to know how Hooch seemed to know where he was, what that other creature was, and why he defended Stiles.

And if he was okay. That was the important part.

He hadn’t expected to see Derek passed out on his own porch, a trail of dried blood around him, and then he saw the injury and it just the pieces just fell into place.

Stiles listens to Derek’s rhythmic breathing, and somehow despite the fact that he’s laying on the cold, dusty floor of a broken and charred house, he feels incredibly comfortable. And safe. Derek’s warm and solid, and Stiles’ heart skips a beat when he sees their clasped hands. It’s close, intimate in a way Stiles hasn’t had since his last major relationship in college. And it hadn’t felt like this either, even though Stiles isn’t in a relationship with Derek— it feels close. Maybe it’s what Derek said, that he trusts Stiles, and the way he’s holding Stiles right now. Like he’s something precious.

Stiles studies the angle of Derek’s jaw, watches the rise and fall of his chest—

Oh. That’s interesting.

Stiles reaches out to touch the blood on Derek’s chest, and it wipes away, leaving nothing but smooth skin underneath. The new skin is soft, and a little raw and pink compared to the rest of Derek’s skin, but it looks fine, like a scar from an old injury.

Derek’s breath is warm on Stiles’ neck, and then there’s a soft pressure as he nuzzles closer, and it feels like a kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

Derek wakes up well rested, which is strange.

The first thing he realizes is that he’s warm, and his instincts are telling him _safe, safe, safe._

_Pack._

There’s a warm body in his arms, chest rising and falling steadily.

_Mate._

Derek opens his eyes.

Stiles is facing him, his eyes closed, lashes dark on his cheek, fluttering slightly with each breath. He’s curled close to Derek, one hand splayed out on Derek’s chest, like he was feeling Derek’s heartbeat before he fell asleep.

Derek takes a moment to study him, looks at the soft curve of his mouth, amazed that he’s here in the first place.

He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to break this peaceful spell. A quick assessment of his body doesn’t take much; he’s fully healed. Strange; wounds from an Alpha’s claws usually take about three days or so. But with a pack connection…

Stiles’ other hand is holding Derek’s. His fingers are long and slim, and something new and hopeful blooms in Derek’s chest at the sight of their fingers interlaced together.

Derek wants to know what it means, what Stiles means by this, why Stiles stayed, why he healed so quickly to begin with, but he’s distracted by the pattern of moles dancing down Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles’ eyes flit open.

They stare at each other, barely breathing.

“Hi,” Stiles finally says.

“Hello,” Derek says back. They haven’t moved. In fact, they may have moved closer; Derek’s body unconsciously seeking the heat of Stiles; Stiles’ leg arching up between Derek’s thighs.

Stiles’ eyes are a bright, warm brown, almost liquid gold.

“Is it weird, that I really want to kiss you right now?” he asks, almost a whisper.

For a moment Derek indulges in the thought, what it might be like to just press a bit closer and bridge that small gap, to taste those soft lips. He could draw Stiles to his chest, feel the warmth of his skin, friction as they move…

He shakes himself and pulls back, letting go of Stiles’ hand. He falls back onto the hard floor with a loud _flomp_ , sending a cloud of dust into the air.

Derek stands up reluctantly, even though every part of his body wants to continue to lay there with Stiles. _Mate,_ that hidden, secret part of him whispers again. _Stay._

He doesn’t say anything, and the silence hangs in the air.

Stiles immediately draws his knees to his chest, his face pinking up in embarrassment. “Sorry, I, I don’t know what I was…” he blushes harder, looking away from Derek.

Right. He’s still naked.

Derek spots his boxer briefs on the floor and jerks them on, making a mental note to purchase more clothing. The few things he’d stuffed in that duffel bag on his way from New York are probably all shredded or dirty now.

Stiles is looking up at him, a strange curious expression on his face. “You’re a wolfman. Man. Wolf.”

“Werewolf.”

Stiles clicks his tongue and points. “Yes, that’s the word. I was just getting to it.”  He stares at the fluffy dog bed that they’d been using as a pillow. “I can’t believe you let me… you let me think that you had a dog.”

Derek shrugs.

“And you actually went and bought the stuff!”

Stiles rises to his feet, stepping towards Derek. “Okay, you can’t pull that strong-and-silent thing anymore, because I have a fuckton of questions like what was that huge wolfy-thing in the woods last night, and I’m so confused because you being a werewolf changes _everything_ and was that other… yeah, was that a werewolf too because it was MASSIVE and also there were paw prints at the crime scene and would it be too much to ask if I could compare? Not that I really think you’re a suspect but I’m kind of worried that you might be but we also cuddled and I’m having a lot of feelings and—”

Derek looks down. Stiles’ hand is on his chest again, thumb brushing his nipple.

“I’m going to find a shirt,” Derek says, walking out of the room.

“Good call!” Stiles shouts. “Shirts are good! Shirts are good for having conversations. Which we’ll be having. Yeah.”

Derek’s instincts are clamoring, and a part of him is excited, jubilant maybe, because the scent, the possibility, the fact that Stiles _stayed_ with him while he was injured…

Stiles is still babbling about shirts.

_Fuck, my mate talks a lot,_ Derek thinks. He actually does like the way Stiles’ voice fills the spaces of his empty charred home, though.

He can deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! Thank you guys so much for sticking through with me on this. I know this was a short update but I really liked the pacing and ending it on this scene, and the part that I did have written that I originally planned for the "rest" of this chapter worked better on its own. So there will be another update very soon!
> 
> <3


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles thinks he might burst out of his skin, werewolves are real, there’s magic in the world, everything he thought he knew has just been put on its head, and Derek is just so _calm._

He explains everything in short, terse sentences, once he got some clothes on. Yes, he’s a werewolf. He was born one. His sister was one too. She came out here because she thought their uncle had woken up from his coma, and Derek followed when he hadn’t heard from her.

Laura Hale. Derek’s sister.

Stiles only vaguely knows of her in the way that anyone in any small town knows anyone else; in bits and bobs of town conversation, _that Laura, so smart, so bright, really gonna go places, that girl._

And now she’s dead.

The Alpha killed her, Derek explains. Took her power, in some vampire-sucking-magic-making-sense way. But in the werewolf sense. No, Derek doesn’t know who it is. No, the Alpha didn’t cut Laura in half; that’s… something else, something that Derek doesn’t explain, his eyes get cast over in shadow and he looks so much in pain Stiles doesn’t want to press any further.

Derek shows Stiles where he buried her, eyes searching him as Stiles looks at the grave.

“I won’t report this,” Stiles says, sincere. “I know it’s… it’s part of your tradition, right. To bury her like this.” He bites his lip. “Do you want… to claim the rest of her?”

Derek shakes his head. “That would be identifying her.”

Stiles nods. To admit the body in the morgue right now is Laura Hale is to change the whole line of investigation— and Derek’s timely move back into town would be incredibly suspicious.

“Is the Alpha going to try to hurt more people?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admits. “Since I got here I haven’t… I spent most of my time as a wolf. I didn’t really want to admit that Laura might be dead.” He takes a deep breath. “If you hadn’t tried to figure out where Hooch’s owner was I might not have shifted back so soon.”

Stiles can see the way guilt floods his face, and he immediately rushes forward and seizes Derek in a hug, drawing his arms close. “Hey, hey, you can’t blame yourself for your sister’s death. Look, the body… we dated the body in the morgue. She died before you came into town.”

Derek nods, his nose in Stiles’ neck.

He feels good in Stiles’ arms, like he belongs there.

Stiles tells himself as he draws back, tucking the thought away. At least Derek was polite enough to ignore that awkward comment Stiles had made about kissing him. It’s kind of a problem, having no filter sometimes, but that moment had just felt… Stiles didn’t know he could feel so much, just holding someone and looking into their eyes.

It’s not the moment. Derek is grieving. But Stiles can be there for him right now.

“I was here for _weeks_ but I…” Derek’s voice is wracked with guilt. “I looked for her. But I think I knew. I felt it. But I didn’t want to know, to be sure. And then you found her body…”

Stiles doesn’t say anything, but holds Derek steady.

“Wait, when you said _more_ people, you meant more than just Laura, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles says. “He did bite my friend Scott, which was weird because I guess your bites heal super-quick too, because he felt good enough to go to work today, oh hey, do you think—”

Derek pulls back, out of the embrace. His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and his eyes widen and jaw immediately tenses. “Where is he?”

“What? Uh, at work probably, oh wait what time is it—” Stiles checks his phone— “Wow, we slept awhile, he’s at home, aw hey I’ve got a bunch of missed texts—”

Derek takes his hand and starts for the door. “We have to go. Now.”

Stiles would protest and being dragged along, but they’re also holding hands again, so.

 

* * *

 

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner!” Derek snaps as they drive back towards town.

“Put on your seatbelt, dude,” Stiles chides. He’s a deputy. He’s gotta be responsible and stuff.

Derek pulls the seatbelt across the lap and snaps it shut with a definite _click_ and glares at Stiles.

“Well, yeah I mean I was gonna ask but there were a TON of things happening like explaining the Alpha and you and the healing and I don’t know how about the EXISTENCE of werewolves to begin with?” Stiles raises his eyebrows at him. “And the healing cuddles thing, is that like, you can do that with anyone or just… um…”

“Drive. It’s getting late. It’s dark already. We’re just lucky it’s not a full moon.”

“Why, what happens at the full moon? Do you get extra hairy?”

They stop at a red light. Derek’s fists are clenched. “The moon in its various phases affects our control. I’ve been a werewolf all my life; I’ve had practice. Your friend has _just been bitten_ , and by a violent Alpha who we have no idea what his intentions are.”

Stiles’ blood runs cold, and he presses on the gas as soon as the light turns green. He grips the steering wheel tight. “Is he going to hurt Scott?”

“I don’t know. Alphas who take the power by force… it’s very rare. It’s a disgraceful, monstrous what he did, killing another Alpha to take their power.” Derek stares ahead at the road, eyes unfocused. His knuckles are white as he grips the door’s handle.

They’re almost at Scott and Stiles’ apartment; Stiles can see Scott’s dirtbike parked in the lot from where they’re stopped at the red light, and mentions it to Derek. “See? Scott’s fine, not like me, all impulsive as fuck. If something weird was going on with him I bet he’s like standing in the shower quietly trying to figure it out.”

Derek scoffs. “And what, you’d go off running?”

Stiles laughs, trying to lighten the mood. “I mean, if I suddenly got wolfy superpowers I’d be like testing them all out immediately! Scott’s got more of a suspension of disbelief with those kinda things, though. In third grade I was convinced our substitute teacher was a vampire and even made us wear garlic for a month but he never believed it.”

“Garlic doesn’t work against vampires, that’s a myth,” Derek says flatly.

_“Vampires_ are real—”

Stiles’ intercom crackles. “Got a 187 at the gas station,” Parrish says. There’s something else in his voice too, something that makes Stiles’ skin crawl.

He picks up the radio. “Stiles here.”

“I’m here with Haigh, it’s fucking ugly,” Parrish says over the static. “Possible animal attack, I don’t know. Victim is white male in his 40’s.”

Stiles turns on his left turn signal. “I’m on my way.”

Derek shakes his head and mouths “Scott” at him, reaches over and flicks the signal off.

Stiles raises his eyes. Scott is fine, he can see Scott’s bike, Scott is probably playing Halo right now or reading a book how to get better at doctoring puppies. There’s another murder, he needs to help—

“I’ve got two witnesses here but any more people on the scene might spook em.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, l can finish this interview on my own.”

“Ten four,” Stiles says, and the call is over. His fingers twitch on the steering wheel; it’s hard not to just go back Parrish up.

“The Alpha killed someone,” Derek says. “They’re not going to catch him tonight or figure out what happened.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. Parrish said he didn’t want any more people on the scene. It will be fine. They can check on Scott. Derek’s probably worried for a good reason; he’s been a werewolf all his life, he knows this stuff.

The light turns green.

A silent tension follows them as Stiles pulls into the apartment’s parking lot, parks and they head inside. Stiles tromps up the stairs, exhaling as he reaches the fifth floor; the elevator in their apartment has always been broken. He unlocks the door, throwing it open. “Scotty! I’m home! Are you okay?” His voice echoes around the messy apartment, and there’s no immediate answer, which makes Stiles’ heart skip a beat.

And then, finally he hears a groan. “Stiles, it’s the worst,” Scott laments, his voice carrying from his bedroom.

Stiles has never heard him sound so desperate, his voice seems to be seeped in pain. He rushes forward, throwing open Scott’s bedroom, expecting the worst.

“Hey, I brought my friend Derek, who’s also a werewolf, whaddyaknow it’s a small town, he says he can help you out with this— Scott, _what.”_

Scott is laying on his bed, upside down, feet sprawled in the air, no visible wounds or fangs or hairiness anywhere, but he is looking very morose, holding his phone. He looks up at Stiles when he walks in; he’s still dressed in his work clothes, lab coat and all.

“She hasn’t texted me back yet. Oh God, I was too forward. Stiles— what if she hates me?”

“Who? What?” Stiles falters in the doorway, Derek behind him.

“Allison,” Scott says. “I texted you.”

Ah. The missed texts. Stiles whips out his phone quickly, eager for context, scrolling quickly.

_OMG STILES I JUST MET AN ANGEL_

_She’s in the waiting room right now_

_She brought this dog in? She thought she hit it with her car and like was so worried_

_I think she did its good that she brought him in, a lot of ppl would have left the dog by the road_

_She’s got the most beautiful smile_

_She’s new in town_

_STILES I THINK I’M GONNA ASK HER OUT TEXT BACK IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS AND DON’T SAY BOWLING ALLEY_

_SHE SAID YES STILES_

_WE HAVE A DATE FRIDAY_

_SHE SAID TO TEXT HER MY NUMBER AND SHE’D TEXT BACK_

There are a few more texts, including some sad faces about why Stiles isn’t texting back, and some updates on some of the dogs, and one or two texts about feeling nauseous and coming home early.

“Okay, date, that’s awesome, but I ah, I was more worried about the werewolf thing,” Stiles says.

“What werewolf thing?” Scott says, looking up. “Werewolves aren’t real— holy shit!”

Stiles turns around, and Derek’s eyes are glowing; his face has shifted into slightly more canine proportions, and there are sharp fangs protruding from his mouth. “They’re definitely real,” Derek says.”

Scott sits up, his mouth falling open. His shoulders tense up.

Even Derek’s voice seems lower, more gruff. “You feel it, don’t you. Another wolf in your territory; your new instincts must be going haywire.”

“What— who?”

“Scott, Derek. Derek, Scott,” Stiles sighs. Seriously, they could have done this intro better. “Look, last night, you were bitten by an Alpha werewolf. So, ah, yeah. You’re in the club, now.”

“Look, that’s some nice makeup your friend’s got there,” Scott laughs nervously. “And yeah, today was kind of weird, but I think it’s mostly because I’m probably getting sick, you know? Some weirdness with my vision and hearing.”

“Weirdness like what?” Stiles raises his eyebrows.

“Nothing, I probably made it up,” Scott says, and then his mouth sets in a grim line. “I… that isn’t makeup. Makeup doesn’t do that.”

Derek’s face has gone back to normal, and he enters the room.

“Werewolves,” Scott says flatly.

“Yep,” Stiles says.

 

* * *

 

It takes awhile to sink in. Derek keeps going off on safety and control and how Scott has to train with him so he learns how to use his new powers.

“You need to take at least two weeks off work,” Derek says, arms crossed.

“What? No! Look, I’m the only vet in town, people need me, okay, and my intern Emma, she’s good but she’s scared of cats and can’t feed them and Riley is still working on his certification, they can’t run the clinic without me,” Scott says adamantly. He glances at Stiles, throwing his hands up, making a _who is this guy even?_ face at him.

Stiles glances at Derek and then back at Scott, and sometimes he really regrets how in sync they are because Scott gets it right away, laughing and then waggling his eyebrows at him.

“Really?”

“Shut up,” Stiles says.

“But you—” Scott’s face breaks into a delighted grin. He hasn’t had someone to tease Stiles about for awhile.

Stiles can see even Derek’s noticed the shift in mood, from serious talk about training to Scott and Stiles’ exchanged glances and silent conversation. Derek looks between the two of them, confused.

Sometimes Stiles is really grateful for how in sync he and Scott are because they can have a whole silent discussion about how this is not the time to tease Stiles about his feelings for Derek and Stiles can tease right back about this new Allison person and well they should really focus on this werewolf thing.

“Okay,” Scott says, looking up at Derek. “So, werewolf control. Do you have a handbook or something?”

“No,” Derek says, in a tight voice. “Well, my family kept a detailed log of history and guides but most of it was lost in the fire. “We can start now, we have a good amount of time before it gets dark. Come on, we’ll go back to the woods.” He’s already started for the apartment door.

Scott gets up, pocketing his phone, nodding as he follows Derek, and Stiles goes too.

“Not you,” Derek says, turning around.

“I should be there, it’s werewolf training. He’s my best friend,” Stiles says.

“No,” Derek says, but his voice is softer this time. “Can’t risk another human getting hurt. Plus, he might get distracted.”

Stiles glances at Scott, and the both of them shrug in unison with a _who, me?_ gesture. That’s valid, Stiles thinks.

“Come on,” Derek says, putting a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “We’re brothers now.”

_Wolf bros,_ Stiles mouths at Scott.

_You’re my bro first,_ Scott mouths back.

“This is what I meant by distracting,” Derek mutters.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued!


End file.
